Colovaria
by AbsentMare
Summary: Harry is Sorted into Slytherin, Ron into Hufflepuff, and Hermione into Ravenclaw. What will happen when the trio of friends is separated from the beginning of their time at Hogwarts? Follows the story of Harry, Draco, Ron, Hermione, Severus, and a handful of other canons in an AU where the smallest changes could make the biggest impact.
1. Chapter 1: Ten Years of Preparation

**Notes:** I do not own the rights to Harry Potter. All characters and subject matter are the property of their creator, JK Rowling, to whom I am most grateful for creating my favorite sandbox to play in.

Chapter 1: Ten Years of Preparation

The past ten years had been anything but easy for Severus Snape. Of course, if he wanted to properly assess the situation he would relent that the majority of his thirty-one years on the planet had been anything but easy. It wasn't quite the same on this end looking back to what it had been like to live through his trials of years past, starting his life as an unloved little boy looking ahead to a future that seemed nothing but inevitably treacherous-if he wasn't killed before he even reached adulthood. Even when Lily entered his life, that one ray of hope and happiness in a world of misery and darkness, he didn't really see much of a future for himself. It was difficult to plan for beyond the same week when all manner of horrid events could unfold in the meantime. Inevitable meltdowns he'd needed to be prepared for, incidents that usually ended with Severus nursing a bloody nose and scrapes and bruises. On the worst nights, it involved finding another place to sleep when his parents kicked him out at the height of their fury, one of their rare displays of unity. The fights between his parents had over time only become worse and more one-sided, Tobias' violence and anger seeming to be the only things that flourished in the last house on Spinner's End after a time. Watching his mother diminish further and further into a husk of a person was perhaps the most painful experience in his life.

And eventually, when he was of age, he realized he'd had to throw in the proverbial towel and leave to make a life for himself away from them and their problems. There was nothing he could do to help them, nothing he hadn't tried in the past to no avail. Out on his own, stumbling through life like a fawn on shaky legs, he was never at a loss for challenges or difficult decisions. He usually made the wrong ones, chiefly among them the choice to work for a man who then called himself Tom Riddle. So many terrible things followed in the wake of that decision, and although he had not fully known the severity of his choice, the extent to which Riddle was willing to go to see his ideal world born, he _knew_ he was making a poor choice. Even clouded by pride and a desperate need to prove himself Severus knew there were better choices. Ones that were far less morally grey, anyway; he'd had more than one potions master offer him a job as their apprentice before he'd even left school and though the offered pay was modest it would have been enough to sustain him. He could have worked through the day in their laboratories and gone home at night to continue working on his own research of spellcraft and brewing and easily had his findings printed in respected journals regularly.

It all just seemed too humble at the time. Now the reminder if his grossly inflated ego only disgusted him. He tried not to think about who it reminded him of.

There had eventually been an apprenticeship and he had proven his Potions Mastery, but that wouldn't come until many months had passed him by and not because he was a bright-eyed and hopeful young man looking to start a new career path. That story belonged to someone else. For him, his late entrance into the world of legitimate potioneers was purely tactical, entwined tightly in an elaborate plot only someone like Albus Dumbledore (or Tom Riddle) could have produced. He received his title only to polish a woefully short resumé in preparation for a far worse job than the inanity of endlessly scrubbing cauldrons and brewing whatever draughts suited his master's whim. He was to work as Slughorn's assistant for a time before taking over his position entirely, the youngest Potions professor the school had ever seen. Although he had been Dumbledore's man longer than their staged encounter (there had to be some false memory to show the Dark Lord should he ever get the inclination to look) indicated, secretly feeding him and subsequently the Order just enough information so as not to arouse suspicion from either master, it turned out that his work was simply not enough. Not enough for Dumbledore, who apparently wanted to keep a closer eye on his spy, and, not enough for the Dark Lord either, who delighted at having his most trusted servant so close to his greatest adversary.

Not for the last time Severus wished he'd not gotten himself into such a predicament. He had never been comfortable around children, and though teaching came easily when he tutored people in the past, they had at least _wanted_ to understand what he was trying to teach them. Interest, if not in the craft but at least passing the course, had been enough to make those interactions tolerable, but many of the students who came through the school were far more interested in grandiose incantations than the subtle art of potion-making. There was absolutely no hiding their disinterest and for Severus there was absolutely no hiding his disappointment and occasional disdain. He knew it wasn't _right_ , but it was hard not to bite out a scathing remark at the one student who seemed utterly incapable of following the simplest instructions. If the craft he taught had been anything else-cooking or pottery, perhaps-it would not vex him so, but when errors could endanger everyone around them (from flesh-melting goo to toxic fumes that could incapacitate them for several hours) he rarely let them slide without harsh rebuke. He was not the happiest back in a place with so many bad memories in the company of people he just didn't understand, but he cared very much for the students.

The only ones who really saw this were his Slytherins, though. He'd taken them under his wing far more readily and with far more ease than he'd taken to the teaching position itself. There was an easy kinship there; he had been in their shoes not very long ago at all and he knew the pain of being ithat/i group. Even the youngest of Slytherins felt the sting of iotherness/i the school put on them, some ostracized from the moment they were Sorted (it was not uncommon for boos to be heard throughout the Great Hall when a young student was Sorted into his House, with no reproach from any staff members save himself), and doing all that he could to give those students a place where they could feel welcome and like they belonged came as easily as breathing to Severus. They deserved it, _needed_ it, far more than anyone else wanted to realize. Under his guardianship, Slytherin House became more of a family than a simple group of like-minded students, and the Common Room quickly became their home, a safe haven from the judgment of the outside world. That wasn't to say there weren't bumps along the way; though he always endeavored to defend his students (and one of the rules he'd created in the beginning was to always show a unified front outside of the walls of their Common Room) he realized they were not perfect. However, disciplinary action was always brought forth later, usually during a meeting in his office, after the student had enough time to decompress after the event. He rarely gave his own students detentions only because his fellow staff members seemed more than eager to dispense punishments their way, often harsher than necessary after further examinations were made.

But then that had been the way of things for years at Hogwarts, hadn't it? Not much changed between his departure from the school in 1978 and his return to it in 1980. The reputations their parents, many of whom had been Death Eaters, preceded them and their House only further diminished them in the eyes of others. Despite all that worked against them, though, Severus' students had managed to succeed beyond his hopes. Although his first few years as a teacher had been incredibly difficult with a lot of growing pains and shared frustration between he and the mentor Albus assigned him (none other than the Head of Gryffindor House, Minerva McGonagall) he finally fell into a rhythm. Both his mother, who had taught him a bit of brewing in the past with a critical and unforgiving tutelage, and Minerva drew out a similarly strict disciplinarian in him. Within months of his first solo taught class, which occurred sooner than planned (Horace had decided to retire at the end of the first semester rather than the end of the school year as planned), Severus was able to hold a class' attention without ever raising his voice above a near whisper. Although specific rebukes were often necessary (and often paired with deduction of House Points or assigned detentions) when dangerous mistakes were made, it didn't usually take more than a _look_ to settle any lingering unruliness. It was hard to pinpoint precisely when his observations of the two women's mannerisms finally clicked and became his own, but he was glad when it finally did. He was nearing his wit's end trying to manage a classroom full of children, Minerva loved to remind him, not much younger than him.

 _'You know, I've told Albus myself several times you simply do not have the temperament nor the ability to teach.'_

Maybe her prodding had finally done it. She wasn't wrong about the first point, but the second left him seething. He was more than able to teach-he knew potions probably as well she she knew transfiguration. The way she displayed the gleaming House Cup and Quidditch Cup in her office (which he had to see during their weekly 'training' meetings) only served to fuel his thirst to prove himself. Whether that had been the plan all along or a convenient coincidence was of no consequence; it worked, and he managed to lead his students to the House Cup for the last seven years running. They'd even managed to snag the Quidditch Cup six out of those last seven years, only losing it by a hair's edge once to the Gryffindors. Minerva had been near intolerable the whole year following (despite the House Cup sitting gleaming in Severus' office) and he refused to allow her the satisfaction of taking it again. For someone who had always hated the sport and used every excuse in the book to avoid matches as a student, he became quite invested in the details of the school's Quidditch Competitions. If he could show his students the support they needed while simultaneously working to give Minerva less fodder for her smug attitude it was time well spent. When the first set of Seventh Years that had been taught exclusively by him received their NEWT results his work was finally able to speak for him. Although he'd been warned against being as selective as he was when allowing students into his NEWT-level courses, he still managed to boast far more students with Outstanding marks on their NEWTs than Slughorn had at his best despite the smaller class sizes. He had smirked across the staff table at Minerva, who did her best not to look at him, but that was only the surface of his pride.

Beyond marks and behavior and Quidditch competitions he'd managed a far greater achievement; Slytherin House, under his leadership, was churning out the smallest number of blood purists than it ever had. Especially in recent years, with the influence of Grindelwald and then Voldemort to contend with, more Slytherin students left to join radical organizations than did not. It was incredibly easy to fall into the trap laid out; acceptance and a chance to prove themselves were far too tempting an offering to people who had been cast aside for the better part of their formative years. If their parents had been supremacists themselves they were nearly helpless to do anything but fall right into their open hands. Though Voldemort was not in power any longer and had not been for some time, there was still just as real a chance of students leaving with twisted notions of superiority in their minds as there had been when he was still actively recruiting. Severus understood that his task would be much more difficult if Voldemort _was_ around to recruit, but he was certain that he would still not lose more than half of his students to the madman as Horace had. Where Slughorn had been more interested in the students who showed potential to help him personally (either with the influence of wealth and status or ability in his class), Severus devoted himself fully to mentoring his charges. In a weird sense, they had almost become like his children, and since most of them had been raised by House Elves and nannies more than their parents, he supposed he rather was like a father to them now. It was a side that was never shown to any other students, but those students had more than enough support, and it wasn't as though he could provide the same level of care to four hundred students as he could one hundred. Even that was a challenging task.

And yet, although his accomplishments in this position had been great (even the most dubious members of staff had finally relented to that), that was not why he was back at Hogwarts. It was not why he had stayed far longer than Voldemort's original defeat. Without much explanation (for the man seemed to delight in vague instructions and half-truths) Dumbledore had made it clear that the war was far from over. Voldemort's supporters obviously still remained after his defeat, but those who had been most vocally supportive had gone to and remained in Azkaban. Although it seemed as though the worst was over (even if they broke out what was the worst a ragtag group of maniacs could do?) Dumbledore seemed convinced Voldemort had not been defeated for good. Perhaps somewhere Severus felt it too, most notably in the Dark Mark that had not disappeared from his forearm the night Voldemort 'died'. If he had actually done so it should have disappeared completely, but it had only faded, a faint wisp of what it had been, but still very much there. He guessed that was the state Voldemort entered and had been in since that Halloween ten years ago. And that meant, when he did return, he would have unfinished business with a certain child who was now old enough to attend the school he'd remained a teacher at all these years. If he had been willing to raise his wand to an infant and utter words that summoned death (after murdering his two parents not minutes before) Severus had no doubt in his mind he'd come looking to finish the job the second he could do so.

Severus was meant to prevent this from happening at any costs. Although the plan had been laid out differently than the memory he and Albus created showed-for there needed to be far more adversity between them to ease the Dark Lord's mind when he decided to look upon Severus' memories, an agreement made between a Headmaster and his young employee before they'd even known who the prophecy was about, the goal was the same; do all that is necessary to prepare whichever child the prophecy speaks of to face off with Voldemort. Severus had still ultimately been hesitant to take the news of the prophecy to the Dark Lord despite Albus' insistence that it was the best choice to make; they had no way of knowing who Voldemort would ultimately target, though they had some suspicions, and although Severus generally disliked all people, he did not enjoy the thought of being responsible for someone's death. Neither he nor Albus had suspected he'd go after an infant, though, and when the measures made to protect the family Voldemort chose to pursue failed, they quickly scrambled to make adjustments to the plan. That was where Severus' duty to Albus continued, and for years he waited at Hogwarts for the day The Boy Who Lived would arrive.

He sneered at the thought of it, directing his gaze to the high table as the older students filed into the Great Hall. No doubt the boy would be joining them with an even bigger head than his father had years ago. The only thing that made it worse was the fact that Severus had sworn an oath to protect him, a task that would no doubt be made exceedingly difficult by the spawn of one of the most egotistically reckless people the school had ever had the misfortune of hosting. When one's father trounced around at every full moon as a stag in the company of a werewolf there was little wiggle room to do any better. Although he had many struggles as a new and incredibly young teacher ten years ago, he had a feeling the most difficult years were about to begin.


	2. Chapter 2: Ten Years of Subjugation

**Notes:** I do not own the rights to Harry Potter. All characters and subject matter are the property of their creator, JK Rowling, to whom I am most grateful for creating my favorite sandbox to play in.

Chapter 2: Ten Years of Subjugation

Harry had spent the last several hours with his head in the past. The Dursleys and Harry had been traveling from one town after the next, with Dudley's whinging hitting a crescendo before his father finally shouted at him to be quiet as they pulled into a dingy hotel in a place called Cokeworth. True, it had been the longest he'd been allowed out of the house for anything other than working in the garden, but he couldn't lie to himself and pretend it was a pleasant trip. He'd spent the better part of the day regretting his hesitation when the first letter arrived addressed to him. What could have changed, he wondered, if he'd just stuffed it into his pocket before Dudley had caught up with him?

He couldn't be sure, but he had a feeling he wouldn't be here, trying not to think about what might have created the stains in his and Dudley's shared hotel room's peeling wallpaper. Once Vernon had gotten his hands on the first letter, it seemed the beefy man had been one step ahead of him at every turn. Even trying to sneak downstairs before the postman arrived proved to be not quite enough, and each time Vernon threw another letter into the fire, Harry's curiosity burned all the brighter. Whatever was in those letters, Harry knew it had to have something to do with all of the strange things that happened to him for his whole life. The way his hair grew back overnight when it was cut, how he managed to suddenly appear on the roof of his school or just out of Dudley and his gang's reach when he just ithought/i about getting away. Even his chat with a boa at the zoo had him wondering if there was more to these events than the Dursleys, who hated anything abnormal, had let on.

It wasn't as though he could ask them, though. To even bring up the word 'magic' was treated like some horrible crime in the Dursley household. So he kept his mouth shut as much as possible and let his mind drift away to possibilities. Whatever the letters had in store for them, he had a sneaking suspicion it would be much more interesting than what the Dursleys had in mind for him. He thought of the grey rags Petunia was dying for him to wear to Stonewall with a grimace. Maybe it would be a different school inviting him to study there instead?

He snorted with laughter, earning a glare from his cousin. As if that would ever happen.

Breakfast the next morning was tinned tomatoes and stale cereal. Not too far off from what Harry was accustomed to when he was fed. Dudley, despite his protestations that he was starving, seemed to have found the energy to complain about it. When the owner approached the table with a letter in her hand, he nearly jumped out of his seat.

"'Scuse me, but is one of you Mr. H. Potter? Only I got about an 'undred of these at the front desk."

Harry's eyes widened as he reached for the letter-another one, addressed this time to the hotel they sat in-but again, Vernon was faster than him, smacking his hand out of the way and taking the letter for himself. If the hotel owner was shocked at such a display she didn't say anything about it.

"Ah, not to worry, I'll take care of those," Vernon had said hastily, taking the letter and following her out to the office. Harry slumped into his chair, defeated now but even more determined to succeed next time, now that he knew whoever was sending these letters was even more persistent than he'd first imagined.

Of course, it was difficult to imagine just how he'd get his hands on the letter when each time the sender become more and more creative than the last. So while they packed quickly and got in the car to keep going on their increasingly arduous journey, Harry was unable to think of any solid plan for nabbing one of those letters. As much as he enjoyed being out of the cupboard regardless of circumstance, at least things (and by proxy opportunities to snatch a letter) were a little more predictable.

By the time Vernon returned from yet another small office in the middle of nowhere he looked madder than he'd ever looked to Harry's recollection and likely Dudley and Petunia's if he were to judge their stricken faces. Even Harry was wary as Vernon told them to unload their bags in the driving rain and pile into a rickety little boat. It was the first time in the past two days he'd seen Petunia open her mouth to protest, watching her husband, drenched in the downpour, with a look of fear and sadness Harry had never seen in her before. Even Dudley, who Harry'd not seen cry in years, let out a pathetic little sob.

Maybe if they'd not all been so awful to Harry for so long he'd feel bad for them all, but right now he just wanted to know what was so important in those letters that his uncle was now ready to risk their very lives to keep it a secret.

In the end, they all begrudgingly piled into the small boat, and though it rocked and creaked dangerously in the torrential downpour, they had somehow made it to the rickety little cabin that sat at the center of the raging lake. Rain pummeled the roof of the drafty cottage and the wind threatened to topple it over, but no one complained, not even Dudley.

It all seemed unreal when he'd stood in Diagon Alley with his companion, a man easily as tall as two men stood on top of each other, his arms laden down with bags of books and quills and magical equipment that, until just a couple days prior had seemed only imaginary. The revelation that he was a wizard ('and a thumpin' good one') let alone famous was huge. It helped that he'd always fantasized to a lesser degree about something like this happening; perhaps he didn't realize magic itself was real but just having someone who seemed to care about him at his side felt like a huge improvement.

Of course, finding out he'd be going to a magical school in September instead of Stonewall had made a huge impression too. He tried to learn as much as he could about the school from Hagrid, and although he seemed to have some choice words about some of the people that went there ('not a single wizard's gone bad that wasn't a Slytherin') he tried to keep an open mind about the whole experience. After all, hadn't he been afraid to say Voldemort's name? True, Harry _did_ have to admit he knew very little about the magical world, but that had struck him as odd and he resolved not to let it color his views of the school before he even stepped foot in it.

His resolute decision made things both easier and more complicated when he'd finally made it onto the Hogwarts Express. With access to his trunk finally granted (Vernon had locked it and all of his supplies up as soon as he'd gotten home from Diagon Alley), Harry almost tripped over himself trying to get at the books inside. It wasn't like it mattered, of course; he had known nothing about magic even existing until just a few short weeks ago and all of it was completely brand new material.

Still, he settled down with his copy of The _Standard Book of Spells_ , eager to begin at least memorizing some incantations when _Magical Theory_ and _Magical Drafts and Potions_ seemed to be biting off a bit more than he could chew. It was a welcome respite after he'd finally given up on putting his trunk up in the storage bin, deciding instead to slide it under his seat. He listened to the family of redheads who'd helped him cross the barrier chatting outside his compartment window.

Though he felt a little guilty for it he found it rather difficult not to notice, though he did try to focus on his book instead, raising it further to his face. It was convenient he was alone because he could feel a blush creeping on his face as he listened to them talk more and more about none other than him. While he understood that he was supposedly famous in the magical community it didn't change how awkward it was to hear a little girl beg her mother to let her come look at him. He thought of the snake in the zoo and suddenly imagined himself in its place, with people gawking at him all day. He shook his head quickly, willing the image away, and redoubled his efforts to focus on the book.

It seemed to work, because he didn't even notice when the compartment door slide open, though Hedwig hooted helpfully and that got his attention. Three of the redheaded siblings were standing there, and although he'd already heard their names, he nodded politely as they introduced themselves. Petunia had made something of a sport of eavesdropping, so Harry had naturally come to hate it himself, even when it was unavoidable.

"I'm Fred-"

"-I'm George-"

"-and this is our brother, Ron."

Fred glanced down at the trunk underneath Harry's seat curiously. "You know, we could help you put that in the storage loft if you''d like," he offered. Harry bit his lip, not sure where he stood between being offered help here and _'It's Harry Potter, I know it, I saw the_ scar'. In the end he just smiled and shook his head.

"No, it's alright, but thank you for offering," he replied politely.

"Nevermind that, he's already reading his schoolbooks, anyway. Look out, Ron, you're going to have some catching up to do," George ribbed, nudging his younger brother with an elbow. The twins were laughing as they turned around left the compartment, but Ron was decidedly sient, casting a rueful glance at the seat in front of Harry.

"D'you mind if I sit with you?" Ron all but mumbled.

"Oh, no, of course not," Harry replied, gesturing at the seat in front of him. He did make a small effort to return to his book, not sure if a conversation with the boy was an inevitability or not, at least not straight away. The feeling of Ron's eyes on the fringe of his hair told Harry otherwise.

There was a long, uncomfortable silence, although it could have only been a few seconds, before Harry glanced up, meeting the other boy's gaze. Apparently, this had been what ht was waiting for-which made sense to Harry when he thought about it. Most people didn't try to carry on conversations with people who had their nose in a book, did they?

"So is it true? Are you really Harry Potter?" Ron asked tentatively.

Harry gave an amused smile. He closed the book in one hand, leaving a finger as a place marker somewhere near the section about levitation charms, and used his free hand to brush up his fringe. It was evidently the tell-tale sign of who he was, something that was equal parts amusing and annoying. For a quick, fleeting second, he considered letting his hair grow even longer to hide it better. The idea would benefit him twofold, because not only would fewer strangers recognize him wherever he went, Petunia would have an absolute fit about it when he returned home for the summer.

"Yup," he replied, adding words to the gesture if only to exercise a skill he'd not been able to practice before. Having friends around Dudley and his gang was strictly prohibited, and any kids who had tried to befriend him all quickly learned they'd earn a thumping for it. Even the nicest of kids relented as soon as they saw Dudley and Piers and their other little cronies advancing on them, leaving Harry to go through his first years of schooling entirely friendless.

 _"Blimey! That's amazing!"_ Ron exclaimed with unrestrained excitement.

Harry chuckled and flattened his hair as best he could. Although it made him a bit uncomfortable, stirring something up in his stomach he couldn't exactly put a finger on, he brushed those feelings aside. The idea of having _friends_ , any friends, easily silenced his discomfort. Still, he felt like it was important to perhaps keep an eye on Ron; it was too hard to tell now if there even was a chance for a real friendship or if Ron was just starstruck meeting a person whose name he'd heard probably for his entire life.

"Sorry, I just-I thought maybe Fred and George were having a go at me, you know? Making things up."

Harry shrugged, hoping he looked casual.

"So is it true?" Ron continued, and Harry raised a quizzical brow. "Did You-Know-Who do that?" Ron looked a little queasy, as if he wasn't entirely on board with getting into the details of such a story, but couldn't contain his curiosity either.

"Yeah-I mean, that's what I'm told." Ron looked at him expectantly, so he continued. "I really don't remember much. Just a lot of green light and my forehead-my scar, I guess-hurting a lot." He shrugged, trying to look nonchalant. Then he realized his own curiosity was gnawing at him.

"So is everyone in your family magical?" Harry asked, and Ron seemed to smile a little when posed a question himself.

"Uh, yeah. pretty sure, but I'm pretty sure mum has a second cousin or something who's an accountant and we don't really talk to them much."

Harry wondered if it was because they were like Uncle Vernon, a bit dull and absolutely despising magic. But he pushed those thoughts aside, his own excitement bubbling up a little. "Wait, so that must mean you know loads of magic then. That's great!"

He wondered for a moment how many spells written in the book he held Ron had already mastered. The Weasleys must have been one of the old wizarding families that the pale, arrogant boy at Madam Malkin's had talked about. But before he could ask him, the door to the compartment slid open again. They both turned to look as a dark-skinned girl with bushy hair hurried in, looking around hastily at every corner of the compartment but the two boys in front of her.

"Have either of you seen a toad?" she asked, finally setting a pair of focused brown eyes on them both. Harry shook his head and glanced at Ron who was also indicating the negative.

"Sorry, I-which compartment are you in? If I see one I can take it to you?" Harry offered.

The girl heaved a sigh of relief. "That would be great, thank you. I'm in compartment 4F by the way-Neville's with me too, he's the one who's lost his pet." She glanced curiously down at the book in Harry's hand and her eyes widened, excitement spreading across her face.

"Already studying too? Good, it's very important to get ahead with your education. I've already taught myself several useful spells." She hurried to sit next to Ron, all but forgetting the toad. One look at Harry's glasses held together only by a bit of tape was enough to prove that Harry himself had not yet mastered any spells.

She studied him briefly and he felt a blush creep up his face under her scrutiny. "Looks like maybe you've not made it yet to the repairing charm? It's very simple, really." She reached a hand into the pocket of her school robes that she'd apparently already changed into and pulled out her wand, pointing it directly at Harry's face.

He didn't even have a chance to protest.

 _"Oculus_ reparo _!"_

She swished her wand smartly, like maybe she really had done this a few times over summer holiday, and he immediately pulled his glasses off to inspect. Sure enough the frames were no longer broken and he peeled the now unnecessary tape off.

"I-thank you," he managed, slipping the glasses back onto his face. She smiled and sat up a little straighter, and Harry could have sworn he saw Ron roll his eyes. He quickly continued, hoping to stop Ron from saying something rude. "Looks like I have a lot of catching up to do. I've only just gotten a chance to start reading."

"Happy to help. And why-what happened? Did you buy your supplies late? Deupty Headmistress McGonagall took me to Diagon Alley straight away to get mine and I've been practicing ever since."

"Well, I mean, I got my supplies ages ago, but my family-they, erm... don't really like magic, so they locked it all up until today."

The bushy haired looked as though he'd just told her they'd beaten him. Her mouth dropped open and it seemed to take her a great amount of effort to find a reply. "They- _what?_ Who could do such a thing?" she asked, sounding outraged.

Harry shrugged. "I dunno-Muggles, I guess?"

"Well, _my_ parents are Muggles and they've been incredibly supportive," she replied pointedly. Harry nodded, relenting.

"Fair enough. My family is a different sort of Muggle, though, that's for sure."

She nodded as if she understood more than perhaps he'd have expected. "Right, that makes sense. Oh! I can't believe I didn't-I'm Hermione Granger," she said, sticking her hand out. Harry and Ron shook it in turn, though Ron seemed a little more hesitant at first.

"Ron Weasley," he muttered.

If she noticed Ron's behavior she didn't seem to react, turning back to Harry. "And you're Harry Potter. I read all about you in _'The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts'_. I imagine if your family hates magic they didn't tell you much about your past, did they?"

It was a brilliant assessment, and Harry couldn't help but feel in awe of the girl in front of him. He shook his head, which was enough for her.

"Well, you're more than welcome to borrow it anytime. I got all of the required reading for school, of course, but there were just so many other fascinating books that I had to get all of the ones that interested me. 'A _History of Hogwarts'_ and _'Hogwarts, A History'_ may seem like redundancy in the same collection, but both books have information the other lacks."

Harry was floored. She seemed just as eager as him to make friends, real friends, and although he wasn't sure he'd be delving into Hogwarts' history so diligently, he felt a sparkle of hope that she might be the sort of friend that lasts a lifetime. Maybe he'd even read _'Hogwarts, A History'_ once he was up to speed in his actual classes. Any excuse to spend time with his new friend was more than welcome.

And all too soon she was standing again, smoothing down her skirt. "Anyway, I had better get back to looking for Neville's toad. It was good to meet you both, though." She spared them both one final glance before striding out of the compartment.

 _"Show off,"_ Ron muttered bitterly, staring dejectedly out of the window.

Harry's brows furrowed, but he didn't get a chance to reply. The door slid open once again and three more students arrived; he recognized one as the pale boy he'd met in Diagon Alley.

"Heard you were sitting here, so I wanted to come and make your acquaintance properly. These two are Crabbe and Goyle," he said, gesturing to the two huge boys that flanked him like bodyguards in turn, "and I'm Malfoy. Draco." He extended a hand, and for the third time today he found himself shaking hands with someone. Sure, he'd been a bit of an arrogant little jerk, painfully reminiscent of Dudley back home, but there was something else in those grey eyes today. It was like an eagerness to please, and he seemed happy when their hands clasped.

Just as Harry was beginning to think it may not be so difficult to make friends at school (Ron would surely come around from his little bit of jealousy), Draco pulled the proverbial rug out from under his feet. "And I'd be happy to help you, you know. After living with Muggles I'm sure you don't know much about our kind. It's a pity to be sure, but I'd be more than happy to help you make friends with the right sort." He glanced disparagingly at Ron and Harry felt his blood boil.

It didn't matter much to him that he'd just met Ron and his brothers, and all annoyance at Ron for his rudeness before fell away.

"The right-the right _sort?"_ Harry repeated.

Draco didn't seem to pick up on Harry's spark of anger. "He's a Weasley. They're a family of pureblood wizards, sure, but they're a disgrace to the name of wizard. You'd be better off making friends with people of better, ah... history."

Honestly, did everything have to be difficult? He wondered if these old wizarding families were anything more than a complex web of animosities and alliances and he sighed, trying to measure his words carefully.

"I'm gonna be honest with you, Draco, I think that's a bunch of crap." Sure, Ron had been a bit of an ass, but Draco was being an even bigger one. He glanced at Ron who interrupted his glares at Draco to give Harry a lopsided smile.

Draco's eyes narrowed, and Harry saw a flicker of confusion in them before they hardened and sparkled with what could only be described as malice. "I'd watch myself if I were you. Don't want to end up like your precious parents."

Harry's eyes narrowed "Oh, and who's going to make that happen? _You?_ "

Draco looked taken aback but quickly regained his footing.

He didn't get a chance to respond when a smiling woman entered the cabin, pushing a trolley of sweets. By the time Harry glanced her way and then back at Draco and his cronies they were already gone, headed back the way they came.

"Anything off the trolley, dears?" Harry's stomach gave a loud grumble and though he didn't recognize any of the brands on it he bought a little of everything.

After a bit of bartering, he and Ron sat in companionable silence snacking on sweets and sandwiches Ron's mother had packed for him. Although a bit dry like Ron had predicted, Harry couldn't say he'd ever had a better sandwich in his life and wondered if all of Mrs. Weasley's cooking was this good.

"I, erm... thanks. For earlier," Ron said, finally breaking the silence.

Harry, who had just captured a chocolate frog making a valiant effort to escape being eaten, smiled. "You're welcome. Honestly, I don't know what his problem is."

"He's a git," Ron offered and Harry howled with laughter.

"Yeah, that's exactly right."

"So are you really studying already?"

Harry glanced down at the book of spells. "Yeah. I mean, I really don't know anything at all about magic. And Hermione can already cast spells. I bet she's even made some potions too."

"Yeah, but that's not normal. I bet most of the other First Years have never cast a spell or brewed a potion in their lives."

Harry shrugged. "I guess. Still, you guys with magical families, know about more stuff than I do. I'm already way behind and I just got here."

"You'll do fine." Ron's voice was reassuring.

"Well, I think at least just to be on the safe side-"

Ron was laughing and Harry nearly lost his grip on the struggling frog (that was oddly not melting in his hands) in his surprise. "Well, I guess I know what House _you're_ being sorted into. Ravenclaw."

Harry was thoughtful for a moment. Ravenclaw? He didn't know much about the Houses-only that Hagrid seemed to dislike Slytherin-and only shrugged. "Maybe. What about you?"

"Well, my five brothers and my parents were all Gryffindors, so I'm probably going to go there."

"Well, who knows? Maybe we'll both be in that one."

And with that Harry bit the head off of his chocolate frog, earning a bolt of laughter from Ron. So the boy could be a little jealous, that much was clear, but at the end of the day, he seemed like as good a friend as any.

It had been hours but seemed like much less time than that when an announcement rang out over the train, warning the students that they were close to Hogsmeade Station.

Harry and Ron quickly hurried into their uniforms and stowed the wrappers from their treats into their trunks. Harry laid the book back in with the rest, determined to continue reading later that night and possibly the next morning. He resolved to check his class schedule as soon as he could so he knew just what he needed to read first.

He sighed with contentment as he pulled on the new clothes, even though the shoes were tight and not broken in yet. Ron looked at him curiously.

"Oh, yeah-sorry. It's just, this is the first time I've ever had my own things. I've only ever gotten my cousin's hand me downs, and the boy is about as big as two of me."

Ron laughed at the image that planted in his head and clapped Harry on the shoulder. "Well, I have five brothers, so I know all about hand me downs..."

By the time they were pulling into the station, Ron had shared with him the details of all of his borrowed things, from his wand to his rat, while Harry explained how he'd never gotten any toys that weren't just cast-offs of Dudley's. He decided to dodge the topic of how little he ate with the Dursleys, instead focusing his attention on Scabbers the rat's sleeping form.

"Boy, he really is pudgy. He and Dudley have a lot in common."

Ron laughed and the rat let out a soft snore. Ron and Harry stared at each other for a moment before breaking into fresh peals of laughter.

it didn't take long for them to figure out where they were supposed to go when they disembarked from the train. A sea of black robes filled the station, but standing above them in stark contrast was Hagrid in his weathered leather coat covered in dozens of bulging pockets.

"Hagrid!" Harry shouted over the din, waving his hand above his head.

After a brief bit of searching, Hagrid spotted Harry and beamed. "Alrigh' there, 'Arry?" He also offered Ron a smile as they two boys approached him, though neither said anything to each other.

"Yes, thank you," he replied, deciding not to mention that he'd almost missed the train entirely for lack of proper instructions on how to actually enter Platform 9 3/4. He wondered not for the first time how Hagrid had managed to let such an important piece of information slip his mind, but brushed the thought aside as Hagrid began calling for the other First Years to join them.

It was clear when they were together, the older students heading down a different path than them, that most of the other First Years knew about as much as Harry. They all looked road-weary after the long journey and as uncertain as he felt. Still, he trusted Hagri, which made it very easy to follow him down a path shrouded in a canopy of low-hanging trees. They rose just a few feet above Harry's head, which meant Hagrid was pushing branches out of his way through the entire trek.

Harry considered asking why they would even choose such a path when they arrived at a sandy bank at the edge of a black lake. In the water floated dozens of little boats, but what caught Harry's attention lay further out on the water. Standing impressively at the top of a high mountain was a castle, its turrets slowly fading and windows sparkling merrily in the growing darkness. From the gasps he heard all around him, Harry realized he wasn't the only one in awe.

"No more'n four to a boat," Hagrid instructed, though he took up one boat by himself. Harry clambered into one of the boats, followed by Ron, Hermione, and Neville, who was clutching a toad in his hands. It reminded Harry of himself not long before, clutching onto a chocolate frog that had every intention of escaping at the first chance. Apparently, the confections were very accurately portrayed.

The toad croaked as if affirming his thoughts.

"I see you managed to find your toad," Harry noted with a small smile.

"Yeah, Trevor doesn't really like traveling," Neville replied. Harry and Hermione shared a glance and had to bite their lips to stop themselves from laughing. Both had a feeling it wasn't just the travel that urged Trevor to seek his freedom at every possible chance, but when Hagrid yelled 'FORWARD!' and the little fleet of boats obeyed, all attention was drawn towards the castle they were now fast approaching.

"Do you think you know which House you'll be in?" Harry inquired in a low whisper.

"Well, I'd personally like to be in Gryffindor," Hermione offered immediately. "It seems like it's the best choice, though Ravenclaw would probably be fitting as well."

"You're really smart, Hermione, I bet you'd be perfect in Ravenclaw."

"You think so?"

Harry, for all of his lack of knowledge, tried to aid their conversation as best he could. "Well, you _are_ brilliant. You've already figured out plenty of magic and we've not even arrived yet. I think Neville's got a point."

Hermione beamed. She turned to the round-faced boy next, tilting her head a little.

"What about you, Neville? Which House do you want to be Sorted into?"

He looked uncertain, nervous even, before shrugging. "Well, I don't think I'd fit in with the Slytherins or the Ravenclaws, and I think Gran would be furious if I was Sorted into Hufflepuff, so I guess I hope I get into Gryffindor." His hands had slackened around Trevor as he spoke and when the toad went to make a terrific leap, he scrambled to quickly close them back around the struggling animal. Harry wondered if he wasn't squashing him he held onto him so hard.

"What about you two?" Neville asked, looking at Ron and Harry.

"Well, I'm probably-definitely- going to be in Gryffindor," Ron supplied.

Harry just shrugged. "We'll see when we get there, I guess." He was nervous, though likely not as nervous as Neville seemed to be. It seemed as thought Gryffindor was the more popular House to be in, at least among present company, but if he _was_ put in another one it wasn't like he'd never see them again, right?

Neville made a breathy sound of amazement, and Harry wondered how uncommon it was to enter the Sorting without some preconceived notion of what House one wanted. Even Ron seemed surprised and then stared over the lake at the castle looming nearer. There was silence for a while, and for the first time, he wondered if he was doing something wrong, but he didn't get a chance to think much about it as their boat bumped to a halt. He had barely noticed that at some point they had gone into a tunnel that likely ran under the castle, preoccupied as he was with concerns about his new friends' judgment, and he resolved to pay more attention to what was going on as he climbed out of the boat and filed up behind Hagrid who waited for them by two huge, oak doors. After all, making friends in the past had been literally impossible for him; maybe he should be proceeding with a little more caution on that front, at least until he got his bearings.

He clambered out of his boat and joined the growing group of students circling around Hagrid. Harry was able to finally look around here, and the only person among them who didn't look fearful- he actually almost looked confident, was Draco Malfoy. It didn't surprise Harry in the least bit and he imagined being flanked by two cronies did a lot to help settle whatever nerves he might have. Their eyes met and Harry managed a weak smile before Draco broke away, looking puzzled. He wasn't even sure _why_ he'd smiled at him-perhaps an effort to cast his line in as many directions as he could and hope something hooked? He was starting to feel like Petunia, and he was suddenly very queasy.

As soon as everyone was standing around Hagrid, he turned and reached one large fist up and knocked hard three times. The doors swung wide almost immediately, and Harry took his first few tentative steps forward into his new life.

 **A/N:** I realize there isn't much new here, but I wanted to tap into some of the bits of canon we may not remember as clearly as others so as to bring ourselves all to the same starting point before delving further into the story. I myself had forgotten that they ended up in Cokeworth-Severus, Lily, and Petunia's hometown- and rather enjoyed compiling this small summary of some events we may have forgotten before Harry started his life at Hogwarts. I appreciate your patience, readers, and hope you will join me as I begin to step into the more exciting (and new) events in Harry and his friend's lives.


	3. Chapter 3: The Sorting Ceremony

**Notes:** I do not own the rights to Harry Potter. All characters and subject matter are the property of their creator, JK Rowling, to whom I am most grateful for creating my favorite sandbox to play in.

Chapter 1: The Sorting Ceremony

The doors opened almost immediately and a stern looking woman in emerald green robes and a pointed hat greeted them without a word. It didn't take a genius to tell that she was not someone to be trifled with and Harry resolved to try remembering to keep his snarky comments at bay in her presence. Although he doubted she would try to whack him over the head with a pan like Petunia he still did not wish to test her ire. He still felt trepidation, as if at any moment someone might grab him and drag him back home to the Dursleys, the elaborate prank finally over. He could imagine the sort of smug smile Vernon would have in his too-big ruddy face when he finally slunk back through the door.

Harry swallowed hard. _'No',_ he reminded himself. _'This is real and I'm really a wizard.'_ He still didn't want to do anything to get himself in enough trouble to get expelled. What would he do then, anyway? Were there other schools that taught magic, and even if there were would they want a delinquent castaway? He sincerely doubted that. When Professor McGonagall, as he'd learned from Hagrid's introduction of Harry and his group, welcomed them with a small speech about the Houses-their important role as a secondary family to the students, the noble history each boasted, and, of course, a precise description of the evening's events, there was rapturous silence.

None of it sounded too bad to Harry. He glanced at Draco, who seemed to be lounging as he leaned against the stone wall as if none of this was special or new to him, but he was sure it was all a farce. Even children pureblood families (the name for people whose whole family was magical he'd learned) couldn't know _,_ right? He wondered if most of Draco's personality was just a ruse to make himself seem stronger and calmer than he actually was. Harry knew he looked a lot less worried than he felt.

When the time came to begin the ceremony, McGonagall led them all into the Great Hall which was beautiful beyond words. The gasps around him told him he wasn't the only one impressed; thousands of candles floated above them, lighting the vast hall and stars sparkled above them as if the ceiling had been torn off to reveal the night sky. Obviously this could not be the case, but it fascinated Harry, anyway.

"It's charmed to look like the sky outside. The magic is so effective it even shows whether it's sunny or raining or snowing," he heard Hermione explain.

"Wow, that's convenient," Harry replied. "If only it said how warm or cold it was outside." It was more of a joke than anything, but Hermione's gaze leveled with his as if he'd just proposed the most amazing idea.

"That's a brilliant idea, Harry! Our required books only contain a cursory glance into magical theory, but I'm sure there's _something_ in the library that could help. Oh, how amazing would it be to improve spells or-or, even create our _own?"_

Harry couldn't stop a smile. Although those goals were far loftier than anything he'd ever dreamed of before, her enthusiasm was infectious. He couldn't help but think just that; he'd made it this far into a story he'd never imagined living. Was it so far off to think of doing more than just memorizing things that already were made by someone else?

He felt the knots in his stomach beginning to loosen. Things were going to be alright here after all, of that he was certain now, and as the remaining students filed in behind them Harry allowed his mind to wander. He tried to imagine the sorts of spells he, Harry Potter could make. He considered briefly something that curbed appetites for Dudley or relaxed anxiety for Aunt Petunia and quickly realized he wasn't thinking _big_ enough-and besides, such things likely already existed.

When the doors swung shut behind the last of the First Years he lifted himself from his thoughts and continued his study of the hall. He recognized the family of red heads over at one of four long tables where sat students all wearing red and gold ties and pins. That must be the table the Gryffindors sat at. The table next to them was occupied by students whose ties were black and yellow, across the hall the students at the next table wore ties of silver and blue, and on the opposite side of the hall from the Gryffindors sat another group wearing ties of silver and green.

Beyond the redheads who were all, as Draco had said, Weasleys, Harry did not recognize anyone. He guessed that was one advantage the purebloods had; he wondered how many of the other First Years knew each other already, perhaps from primary school or day care and how many older siblings were already seated at one of the long House tables. At the head of the hall on a raised part of the hall was another table that overlooked the whole hall; that must have been the staff table. He recognized Hagrid who waved jovially, and Dumbledore from the chocolate frog card he'd unwrapped on the train ride in, and then Quirrel, the man he'd met while shopping for his school supplies at Diagon Alley. Although he was painfully anxious, stuttering and wringing his hands, during their first meeting, he seemed particularly distressed now as he spoke to another professor, one with long, lank, dark hair and pale, foreboding features. He too looked like someone not to cross, and maybe that's just what Quirrell had done.

Suddenly the man was looking up across the hall-at _him?_ \- and surprise jolted him at the same time as a pain in his forehead, right in his scar. He gasped sharply and clapped his hand to his head. Not many people seemed to notice-just Hermione from his understanding, who looked shocked.  
"Are you okay?" she asked, her concern touching. He couldn't remember anyone else caring about his well being; even the pleasant Mrs. Figg was too busy doting on or talking about her cats to notice much about him.

"I-yeah, don't worry. It's gone now, it just surprised me, that's all."  
Hermione seemed skeptical, but she also didn't look like she was itching to run and grab McGonagall anymore which was good. If the Weasleys' reaction to discovering his identity was any indication of how the rest of the students would react to it he wanted to stay anonymous and unnoticed for as long as possible. When he glanced back up at the staff table the dark haired man was talking to the man on his other side, a rather short, wispy-haired man. The pain in his scar did not return.

At the high table Severus was doing everything he could to avoid looking down at the main part of the hall. It was as if on cue, summoned by his trepidation, that the doors to the Great Hall swung open and Minerva strode in, leading another batch of nervous-looking First Years two-by-two into the Hall for their Sorting Ceremony. He did not want to seek the boy out; he could imagine what he'd look like, a smirk plastered on his face and that awful, messy hair. He had heard, after Rubeus returned from escorting him around Diagon Alley to purchase school supplies (yet another luxury given to no other student and yet somehow afforded for him), how much he looked like his father except for the eyes-his mother's they were. Lily's. It pained him to think of the idea of a part of his best friend being trapped in the body of his worst enemy, and even more so the thought that it was he who was designated to be his protector.

It was not so difficult to a promise to make in all honesty; the things he had done had led Lily to her death and there was nothing he could ever do to make up for that fully, but doing his best to protect her son, as she had done, would be the least he could do to try. At least it was _something_ , return her back to the life she deserved though it did not. One of the most important elements to his goal was, in his mind, a proper foundation in Defense Against the Dark Arts. The more Harry Potter could do to defend himself against the kind of magic the Dark Lord excelled in the easier he would make Severus' job. And yet year after year Albus insisted on hiring only the most incompetent people possible.

Despite his carefully polished resumé, filled to the brim with shining qualifications, being added to the pile of prospects for the job each summer Severus was always passed over for another dunderhead. He recalled the professor from the '85-'86 school year merely had the students writing out of the book, line by line, information passed onto him by his exasperated students. He was beyond fury at Dumbledore's incompetence in hiring. _None_ of them had even stayed longer than a year-some had even left before the school year was out! And yet here Severus sat, potions professor once again, sitting next to yet another disappointment. Quirinus Quirrell seemed more a squirrel than a man, nervous and frightened, who likely knew as much about defending himself from the dark arts as a blind man did about painting landscapes. Even if he could memorize the text there was no evident ability to put that knowledge into practice.

Although he had many claims of defeating zombies and vampires and other dark creatures on his resumé, when Severus probed further he could only sputter incoherently and quickly changed the subject. He hardly believed this wasn't obvious at the point of his hiring, and if it wasn't then Dumbledore was more of a fool than he'd thought. _'Right, Albus,_ ' he thought, _'this is precisely who the boy needs to prepare him to face the Dark Lord in the future.'_

It was then that he felt eyes on him, and for a brief second, he wondered how long he'd been stared at without realizing it. Against his better judgment he followed the sensation down the line of new students until his eyes locked on with a pair of green ones _(green, yes, but not Lily's as people had been saying)_ set into a face that looked far too much like James Potter than he liked _(they'd gotten that part right at least)_. While Lily's had danced with happiness and excitement during their Sorting Ceremony-only becoming sad for a short moment when she was Sorted into Gryffindor and inevitably away from him, the young Potter's looked different, almost critical, as if he were taking apart every piece of the hall, scrutinizing it, and then moving on to another.

Their eyes met for only the briefest second before the boy looked away, clapping his hand to his forehead as if he'd just remembered something he couldn't think of earlier. It was a bizarre sequence of events, but he thought nothing more of it, turning instead to Filius who at least could carry on an intelligent conversation. When the ceremony began their conversation halted, but it had been like a cool drink of water for his mind after talking with Quirrell no matter how short the conversation was. He clapped politely as students were one by one sorted into their Houses, although there was a bit more enthusiasm in his applause when new Slytherins joined.

It was no surprise that his former mentor and friend's only son, Draco, was sorted immediately into his House. The hat hadn't even touched his head before shouting the word out-an occurrence not uncommon with long family lines. No doubt Potter and Weasley would both be dropped into Gryffindor just as quickly.

Harry shuffled up the line slowly as the students ahead went up to the hat and then to their new House tables. Hermione was sorted into Ravenclaw-and rightfully so, from their short conversations. Neville Longbottom ended up in Gryffindor, and although it seemed like a bit of a strange placement to Harry, he supposed the hat knew better than them. He tried to hold back laughter when the boy forgot to take the hat off and had to jog it back up to the dias, but he still had to hide a giggle behind his hand. He wasn't bad; certainly not mean like Draco was capable of being, but he was a bit of a mess, there was no doubt there.

Then again, Harry wasn't feeling too put together himself. His stomach tied itself into knots the closer the list of names came to his being called. What if none of the Houses fit him? He didn't feel particularly clever-he was nothing next to Hermione- he'd never considered himself hard-working or cunning and he felt about as unbrave as he ever had been thinking about all of these things. He could just imagine sitting there with the old hat sitting silently on his head for ages before McGonagall took it off and told him there must have been some kind of misunderstanding and that he should head home.

By the time Perks, Sally-Anne was sitting down on the stool he felt sure he was going to throw up.

Things didn't improve much when his own name was called.

Instantly there were whispers throughout the hall, coming in like a tide. Some of them he heard as he walked past- _''_ Harry Potter?' - ' _the_ Harry Potter?' - and it reminded him far too much of the wizards and witches at the Leaky Cauldron. Didn't _anybody_ know he hadn't actually done anything at all? By the time the hat dropped over his eyes and obscured the other students' stares he was starting to feel a bit frustrated.

"Hmm..." he heard a voice in his head-or on it, most likely, say. "Well, this is interesting...most interesting indeed."  
 _'I...what's interesting?'_ he thought tentatively, not sure that he wanted to talk out loud if the hat might not be either.

"Well, you're one of the first to step up to the stool at all _angry."_  
Harry considered this. _'I mean, I'm not what they think I am. And it's getting aggravating.'_

"Ah, yes, I see... they think you're a hero-that you've defeated the darkest wizard of an age singlehandedly-but it is not so?"

Harry didn't like the feeling on his mind being read at all, but he relented to the hat's summation nonetheless.

"And now, then...where does that leave you, Mr. Potter? There's plenty of courage here, of course, and you've a good mind... a thirst to prove yourself as well... but where to put you?" The hat seemed to leave that thought hanging like it was waiting for _his_ input.

 _'_ e shifted slightly on the hard stool. ' _I don't want people to assume they know who I am. I don't want to be The Boy Who Lived, I want to be Harry. Just Harry.'_

"Well, I'm afraid the chance for that happening passed you by long ago. Nevertheless, I believe you'll do best in - SLYTHERIN!" That last word rang out through the Great Hall for all to hear. The hall was stunned silent for a second before a spattering of confused applause sounded throughout. As Harry stepped away from the stool and towards his new House table, he couldn't help but wonder just what else they'd expected of him before he'd ever walked through the doors. The only person in his new House that he knew was Draco and he was surrounded by other students, so he settled into a spot that was cleared out by an older student.

He let out a small sigh of relief as most of the attention in the hall shifted back to the Sorting Ceremony. "Octavius Nott, I'm one of the House Prefects," the boy who'd cleared a place for him said, sticking out his hand. Harry shook gladly. "Harry. Thanks for the spot."

Octavius laughed. "Oh, don't worry about it. We're like family here. Our Head of House Professor Snape is very particular about that. It's tough here for us, everyone else assumes we're all terrible people, so we have to stick together."  
"Oh. Which one is Professor Snape?" he asked, feeling stupid.

"Not a worry. He's the one there with the long, black hair."  
"Oh, sitting next to Quirrell?"

Octavius seemed shocked and even a little offended that Harry knew Quirrell but not Snape and Harry quickly added, "I met Quirrell at Diagon Alley when I bought all of my school supplies."

"Ah. Yeah, I think Quirrell is gonna be another dud. We've gotten a new Defense professor every single year and each one is worse than the last. I don't know how they do it, honestly..."

Harry's brow furrowed. What was the point of hiring people that didn't do a good job-especially a new one each year? Was it that difficult to find people good at teaching the subject?

"Professor Snape's interested in the job, and he'd do really well if his skill with Potions is any indicator, but then we'd need someone to take his place teaching Potions which would be difficult. I don't think anyone knows the subject as well as him."  
"So what you're saying is I'd better try really hard not to mess up in Potions?"

Octavius laughed again. "Yeah, that's about right. But don't worry; as long as you're not a complete dunderhead and blow up your cauldron he won't get angry with you."

Harry didn't imagine it would be difficult to avoid blowing up his cauldron, but he bit his lip all the same. Seven years at Hogwarts would be incredibly difficult if he made his Head of House angry all the time. Nott, Theodore joined them in Slytherin and Harry immediately shifted to one side so he could sit next to his brother, who laughed.  
"Oh, no, please, don't make me sit next to my little brother. I get enough of him at home." Harry laughed too; he couldn't imagine sitting next to Dudley either, though he didn't imagine the Nott brothers had the same kind of relationship that he and Dudley had. Ron Weasley from the train was sent to Hufflepuff and seemed a little surprised about this turn of events. Harry caught sight of his older brothers, Fred and George, laughing and the older one, Percy, chiding them.

When the last student, Zabini, Blaise, was sorted into Slytherin too he came and sat down on Harry's other side. He didn't ogle Harry the way Ron and many of the other students had or fawn over him like his sister, nor did he seem to need to befriend Harry like Draco did. He just greeted him with a nod. "Blaise Zabini."

"Harry...Potter." It felt strange to bring their family names into each meeting; it had never been that way back at Muggle schools, but here everyone seemed to care about who you were related to. He wondered just how deeply their obsession with magical lineage ran for this to be considered normal.

"You were raised by Muggles, right? Bet this is all a little weird then."

"Uh-a little, I guess. I like it, though, it's better than the Dursleys."

Blaise made a face. " _Eyuch,_ they even _sound_ Muggle."

Harry laughed. "Yeah, they're _really_ Muggle. They hate magic." He avoided going further into the topic, though Vernon's voice ( _'stamp the magic out of him')_ drifted through his mind uninvited. "It was weird, though, how much it seemed to freak people out that I was sorted into Slytherin?"

"Well, usually people get sorted into the House their parents were in, so everyone expected you to be put in Gryffindor," Octavius offered. "Even Professor Snape seemed surprised and _nothing_ surprises him."

Harry made a thoughtful noise but didn't say anything. Dumbledore, the Headmaster, rose from his seat and approached a lectern that replaced the stool while Harry, Blaise, and Octavius chatted. He greeted them and Harry's stomach grumbled in protest; did they have to listen to a speech too before dinner? When the Headmaster's few words ended up being only 'nitwit, blubber, oddment, and tweak' he was both shocked and relieved.

"Yeah, he's a bit of a strange one. Used to be Gryffindor's Head of House, so he favors them strongly. Be careful around him," Octavius warned and Harry nodded, not wanting to make any mistakes just after he'd started school. Dumbledore didn't _seem_ so bad, but Harry also knew the sting of being outside of a teacher's favored group. He hoped he didn't have to find out one way or the other if Octavius was correct.

More importantly, hundreds of dishes and bowls filled with food appeared on each and every one of the empty tables. Just about every space that hadn't originally held a place setting now had something that smelled delicious and looked amazing. Harry quickly forgot about Dumbledore as he joined the other students in filling up his plate with a little bit of everything, eating himself painfully full quickly. It appeared he wasn't the only one who did this, though shortly after he finished eating Draco approached his spot at the table, this time alone, his two goonies, Crabbe and Goyle, still stuffing their faces further down the table.

Harry swung around on the bench, not sure what he expected from Malfoy after their mixed interactions, but not wanting to be rude, either. Octavius had _just_ gotten done telling him how important it was that they treat each other like family in Slytherin and he may as well try to do that.  
"So you're in Slytherin, huh?" Draco asked, sounding curious and maybe a little impressed, not hostile like it was when he'd spoken to Ron earlier. "Guess you figured out where you belonged after all."

His tone and words were a bit confusing for Harry, but he just shrugged and then nodded. "yeah, I guess I did."

"Well, I'd be happy to help you figure things out. You know, since it's all new to you." Draco sounded different, humble almost, at least compared to how he'd spoken on the train.

"Thanks, I'd like that," Harry said. Draco gave a small smile and walked back to his seat, leaving Harry questioning just who he'd been talking to on the train and at Madam Malkin's.

"It can be like that sometimes," Octavius said, watching Harry's confused look. "Most of these kids have family's with big reputations to uphold and they act totally differently in public than they do with each other. And Draco comes from a very powerful family and he's the only heir, so he has big shoes to fill." Harry nodded mutely. For the first time he felt he could relate to Draco; he knew all too much about having big expectations. He wondered if either of them would be able to shake them off.

As the rest of the students and staff finished their dinners the serving platters full of food disappeared and were replaced shortly thereafter with desserts, at least one hundred different kinds. Suddenly Harry didn't feel quite so full anymore and tucked into a plate of treacle tart and ice cream. When the meal was finally over he felt like his gut was going to pop the button off of his trousers. It was at this point in the night that Dumbledore had waited to give his full speech at, and Harry was glad for it. He caught most of it; the forest was forbidden to go into, there was no magic allowed in the corridors between classes, Quidditch sign-ups would be starting soon (whatever _Quidditch_ was), and they should all avoid going down the right-hand side of the third-floor corridor if they didn't want to die a most painful death.

Harry blinked. "Wait-what-was he serious just then?"

"Probably," Octavius replied. "He's a bit odd, but I don't think he'd lie to us-not the whole student body, anyway," he added. His reservations about Dumbledore were as clear as Hagrid's had been about Harry's new house when they'd spoken last. _Hagrid!_ He wondered if his new friend would be upset with him for becoming a Slytherin, and quickly looked up to the staff table where Hagrid took up the whole end of one side of it. When they caught each other's eyes, Hagrid waved merrily again and Harry felt as though an invisible vice had released his heart. He smiled and waved back, happy for now that it seemed he hadn't lost his friendship. By the time Harry and the rest of the first years were being escorted out of the hall by their Prefects he was starting to feel more at home. There would be more speeches, from the Prefects and then Professor Snape himself, both going over various rules and expectations. He wondered if the other Houses had the same routine or if these additional rules and expectations were special to Slytherin House. Harry had never taken well to rules in the past, but if they made sense he supposed he'd try to follow them.


End file.
